This morning, like every other morning, I brushed my hair. One hair in particular caught my eye because it was so very blonde - kinda white-blonde. Later, Z came and said good-bye. He stopped mid-sentence and stared at something on my head. I instantly knew that that hair was not in fact blonde: it was grey. My first grey hair.
My Dad only started going grey when he hit his 50's. He and I both have very fine, dead straight hair. My mum, on the other had, was white by her mid-20's. She has thick, wiry hair that's ranged in color from blonde to auburn to brown (all natural). I figured that because I had my dad's hair and was not yet grey, I had a long life of hair color before me. Perhaps it is not to be.
I know, I know - it's just *one* hair. And yet, there's nothing "just" about discovering a grey hair. It is one of the many "grown-up" things are happening to me this year. They don't add up to me feeling like an adult, though. I wonder when that will happen. Perhaps with the third grey hair?
April 28, 2005
April 23, 2005
Twoo Wuv
A few weeks ago, we were awoken early by a shrill beep followed by a silence long enough that I thought I'd imagined the noise. Kaya, who hates the sound of fire alarms, immediately came over to wake me up and cower by the bed. The second beep assured me that yes indeed, our alarm was low on batteries. I got up and removed the fire alarm from the ceiling, stumbled sleepily with it to the kitchen only to discover that it had no batteries in it. Confused, I went back to bed.
BEEEEEEP.
Then I remembered that we also have a carbon monoxide alarm in the bedroom. I pulled out the foot stool again to retrieve alarm number two from the ceiling. A very anxious Kaya followed me to the kitchen as if to make sure that I pulled all the batteries out of that awful, shrieking thing.
We finally replaced the batteries last week. Last night as I lay in bed unwinding from the day, Z noticed the comforting green light of our now functioning carbon monoxide alarm.
"At least we know we won't die of carbon monoxide poisoning during the night," he commented.
There was a pause as my mind whirred. Then I began to laugh.
"I wonder how many times you'd have to fart to set off the carbon monoxide alarm?" I asked. "Could you hot box a room? What about if you farted directly onto it?"
Laughing, we traded fart stories until we fell asleep. Aaah, true love.
(This post dedicated to my dear friend Kevmo. For some reason, talking about farting onto carbon monoxide alarms made me think of you.)
BEEEEEEP.
Then I remembered that we also have a carbon monoxide alarm in the bedroom. I pulled out the foot stool again to retrieve alarm number two from the ceiling. A very anxious Kaya followed me to the kitchen as if to make sure that I pulled all the batteries out of that awful, shrieking thing.
We finally replaced the batteries last week. Last night as I lay in bed unwinding from the day, Z noticed the comforting green light of our now functioning carbon monoxide alarm.
"At least we know we won't die of carbon monoxide poisoning during the night," he commented.
There was a pause as my mind whirred. Then I began to laugh.
"I wonder how many times you'd have to fart to set off the carbon monoxide alarm?" I asked. "Could you hot box a room? What about if you farted directly onto it?"
Laughing, we traded fart stories until we fell asleep. Aaah, true love.
(This post dedicated to my dear friend Kevmo. For some reason, talking about farting onto carbon monoxide alarms made me think of you.)
April 16, 2005
My best John Hancock
I just returned from downtown, specifically 630 Sansome Street where I met with a very nice lady at the INS. It was my citizenship interview and test at the ungodly hour of 8:20am. Actually, it's very good (from "godly") that i was scheduled so early as it meant little time for lengthy delays to build up.
She, the very nice lady, asked me many questions like: What's your name? Where were you born? Have you ever been a member of the communist party? Would you like to listed as 5'5" tall or 5'6" tall on your naturalization form? and Which was the 49th state? I got all of the questions right, even that last one. The only thing I had trouble with was signing my name.
Yes, signing my name.
It turns out that my actual signature is (and I quote) "too complicated" for the INS. I need to write my name out - all of it. But not like that! It needs to be in cursive, with all of the letters connected. The first time I tried this, I was told that I was printing my name though it was as good a cursive rendition of my name as I've ever done. I was given a blank piece of paper and told to practice. Practice! My signature! My *new* signature. I eventually got it right.
And that's it. They will contact me in one to two months with the date of my swearing-in ceremony. And then, I will be an American (and an Australian and a Brit). I still don't know how I feel about that.
A friend of mine - someone who shares my political values and with whom I often get into rants aobut the current state of affairs - learned yesterday that I had this test this morning. We got into a discussion about the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and its Preamble. She finds these documents to be eloquent and just, and she believes that the ideas upon which the US was founded were fantastic. Since then, however, she said that democracy and republican government have become synonymous with capitalism resulting in things going to hell. Her patriotism was the first I've been able to stomach and to agree with.
Oh my. Look at that. I almost - *almost* - sound patriotic. I better stop writing.
She, the very nice lady, asked me many questions like: What's your name? Where were you born? Have you ever been a member of the communist party? Would you like to listed as 5'5" tall or 5'6" tall on your naturalization form? and Which was the 49th state? I got all of the questions right, even that last one. The only thing I had trouble with was signing my name.
Yes, signing my name.
It turns out that my actual signature is (and I quote) "too complicated" for the INS. I need to write my name out - all of it. But not like that! It needs to be in cursive, with all of the letters connected. The first time I tried this, I was told that I was printing my name though it was as good a cursive rendition of my name as I've ever done. I was given a blank piece of paper and told to practice. Practice! My signature! My *new* signature. I eventually got it right.
And that's it. They will contact me in one to two months with the date of my swearing-in ceremony. And then, I will be an American (and an Australian and a Brit). I still don't know how I feel about that.
A friend of mine - someone who shares my political values and with whom I often get into rants aobut the current state of affairs - learned yesterday that I had this test this morning. We got into a discussion about the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and its Preamble. She finds these documents to be eloquent and just, and she believes that the ideas upon which the US was founded were fantastic. Since then, however, she said that democracy and republican government have become synonymous with capitalism resulting in things going to hell. Her patriotism was the first I've been able to stomach and to agree with.
Oh my. Look at that. I almost - *almost* - sound patriotic. I better stop writing.
March 29, 2005
Having your cake
Z and I went to our first cake tasting on Saturday. The cake maker was someone that one of my stepmum's patients had recommended and we were pretty excited because the cake was actually affordable. Plus, free cake! I mean, really, what could be bad about free cake?
Well, it turns out that lots can be bad about free cake. We arrived right on time, astonishing considering that we had to budget for the vagaries of bridge and 101 traffic. And we didn't even have to do a single u-turn. Things were looking good.
We were shown past the ceramic cherubs on the front porch into the baker's commercial-grade kitchen at her house. She asked us all sorts of questions about the kind of cake we want - flavors, design, how many tiers, what kind of frosting, flowers or not, etc.. To all of these questions we provided answers laden with uh's, er's, um's and we think's. Yeah, we had no clue.
Then she brought out the cake - four different kinds plus two small tubs of frosting. There was carrot, lemon, white and chocolate, plus chocolate chip and custard frostings. All of the cakes had different fillings. They all tasted like ass. And let me tell you, there's only one thing worse than eating bad cake: eating bad cake while seated two feet from the person who made the cake, a person who is intently watching your every move. In a valiant attempt to be nice, Z asked me which cake I liked best. For the record, this tactic was only nice to the cake maker and incredibly un-nice to me. I stuttered something about the lemon because it actually had flavor. My all-time favorite kind of cake is chocolate and raspberry. Knowing this, Z had asked the cake maker to bake us such a sampling. I have never tasted such raspberryless raspberry frosting. Blech! While we sampled and muttered, "Mmm's" the cake maker talked about how much she loved baking - she's been making cakes for 29 years. Her husband recently began to talk about retirement but, she explained, she can't imagine not making cakes. It's really what she loves to do. It's a pity that her cakes suck.
To be fair, I'm sure that there's someone out there who probably loves that kind of cake. We are not those someones. As we left, we agreed that were we to be given a slice of such a cake at a wedding, we would take one bite and put it down.
As we finished nibles, she asked us if we would like to take the remainder of the cake with us. Zack shot me a look and said yes - we couldn't really say, "No, ma'am, because we think your cake sucks.". Later that night, we brought the cake out for Z's sister and brother-in-law. Everyone agreed that equivalent cake can be found in your local Safeway deli section. I guess you pay for what you get - meaning that we're going to be paying a lot more for cake.
*************************************
On an entirely different note, I overheard the following while walking across campus today:
There's a difference between starting a war and starting a holocaust.
Adding the word, "Discuss" to the end of this would make for a great essay test question.
Well, it turns out that lots can be bad about free cake. We arrived right on time, astonishing considering that we had to budget for the vagaries of bridge and 101 traffic. And we didn't even have to do a single u-turn. Things were looking good.
We were shown past the ceramic cherubs on the front porch into the baker's commercial-grade kitchen at her house. She asked us all sorts of questions about the kind of cake we want - flavors, design, how many tiers, what kind of frosting, flowers or not, etc.. To all of these questions we provided answers laden with uh's, er's, um's and we think's. Yeah, we had no clue.
Then she brought out the cake - four different kinds plus two small tubs of frosting. There was carrot, lemon, white and chocolate, plus chocolate chip and custard frostings. All of the cakes had different fillings. They all tasted like ass. And let me tell you, there's only one thing worse than eating bad cake: eating bad cake while seated two feet from the person who made the cake, a person who is intently watching your every move. In a valiant attempt to be nice, Z asked me which cake I liked best. For the record, this tactic was only nice to the cake maker and incredibly un-nice to me. I stuttered something about the lemon because it actually had flavor. My all-time favorite kind of cake is chocolate and raspberry. Knowing this, Z had asked the cake maker to bake us such a sampling. I have never tasted such raspberryless raspberry frosting. Blech! While we sampled and muttered, "Mmm's" the cake maker talked about how much she loved baking - she's been making cakes for 29 years. Her husband recently began to talk about retirement but, she explained, she can't imagine not making cakes. It's really what she loves to do. It's a pity that her cakes suck.
To be fair, I'm sure that there's someone out there who probably loves that kind of cake. We are not those someones. As we left, we agreed that were we to be given a slice of such a cake at a wedding, we would take one bite and put it down.
As we finished nibles, she asked us if we would like to take the remainder of the cake with us. Zack shot me a look and said yes - we couldn't really say, "No, ma'am, because we think your cake sucks.". Later that night, we brought the cake out for Z's sister and brother-in-law. Everyone agreed that equivalent cake can be found in your local Safeway deli section. I guess you pay for what you get - meaning that we're going to be paying a lot more for cake.
*************************************
On an entirely different note, I overheard the following while walking across campus today:
There's a difference between starting a war and starting a holocaust.
Adding the word, "Discuss" to the end of this would make for a great essay test question.
March 01, 2005
The List
Again last night, for probably the twentieth night in a row, I had trouble falling asleep; my mind was clinging to The List. The List contains all the things that need to get done between last week and October. Items get added to it at a far faster rate than they get removed resulting in what feels like exponential growth. Come to think of it, it probably is growing exponentially because every single item added triggers a small landslide of other items that Must Be Done. It is so overwhelming that sometimes when I think about it, I get the mental equivalent of the Blue Screen of Death. It's either that or I achieve sudden Enlightenment, though the severe back, jaw and neck tension seem to indicate the former. Some malfunctioning part of my brain seems caught in an eternal loop through the items, repeating them to ward against forgetfulness. Z appears to have the same problem, at least when he's not snoring. Last night I suggested that it might be helpful if we wrote everything down. He laughed, pointing out that it is about a billion items long. The world does not contain that many post-it notes and we do not have enough wall space.
I usually try to replace thoughts of The List with images from an imagined life after October - an after-life of sorts. I usually place myself on a warm beach under a warm sun next to a warm ocean. Invariably, something in these images takes me back to The List. For example, Z leans over to rub sunscreen into my back as the birds sing and--- don'tforgettoaddsunscreentothepackinglist which reminds me that weshouldgetourwebpageregisterysiteforourhoneymoonup and before I know it, I've left the serenity of the beach and am instead scrolling through a list of wedding guest accomodation options.
I cannot wait for October. How all this shit is going to get done between now and then is anybody's guess. Sometimes I'm reassured by the fact that it will all get done because, quite simply, it has to. At other times, I can't see how I'm going to complete next week's assignments, let alone my entire thesis. I find myself doing things like walking Kaya up the hill chanting, "I have so much to do, I have so much to do, I have so much to do." This is not helpful at all.
Perhaps it's time to rediscover all those meditation practices that I grew up with. It's definitely time for something - perhaps another cup of tea.
I usually try to replace thoughts of The List with images from an imagined life after October - an after-life of sorts. I usually place myself on a warm beach under a warm sun next to a warm ocean. Invariably, something in these images takes me back to The List. For example, Z leans over to rub sunscreen into my back as the birds sing and--- don'tforgettoaddsunscreentothepackinglist which reminds me that weshouldgetourwebpageregisterysiteforourhoneymoonup and before I know it, I've left the serenity of the beach and am instead scrolling through a list of wedding guest accomodation options.
I cannot wait for October. How all this shit is going to get done between now and then is anybody's guess. Sometimes I'm reassured by the fact that it will all get done because, quite simply, it has to. At other times, I can't see how I'm going to complete next week's assignments, let alone my entire thesis. I find myself doing things like walking Kaya up the hill chanting, "I have so much to do, I have so much to do, I have so much to do." This is not helpful at all.
Perhaps it's time to rediscover all those meditation practices that I grew up with. It's definitely time for something - perhaps another cup of tea.
February 26, 2005
The Mind of a Scientist
Has it really only been eleven days since I updated this blog? It feels like an eternity. I have been busier than an ant at a picnic - and I've only been doing one thing: School. Of course, that one category can be further broken down into subcategories such as: seminar reading; fellowship coursework; middle school planning and teaching; and most recently, Moss Landing Marine Lab. Once again, I am spending one day a week driving to and from MLML to use their otolith-slicing facilities. Yes, I have officially given up on my thumbnails as otolith breaking tools. However, I'm still using the nail strengthener because I'm curious about whether or not it works.
Occasionally I stop and listen to myself. When I do, I'm amused to discover how much of a scientist I am. For example, I'm doing an experiment on my thumbnails at the moment. No, I don't have a control - other than my past 29 years of experience. Even my above sub-categorization of tasks is scientific. Or really anal - I'll let you be the judge.
Last night, I had a dream about mapping relationships between people so that I could determine the series of events that led to me meeting my future husband. The technique is a little fuzzy, though I do remember that the angle of the line drawn between two names signified the strength and duration of that relationship. The key piece appears to be Cassidy inviting Jon and I to the Plutonic Ideals Picnic in 2000. That was where I met J, who invited me to my first RS event where I met EE. She knew Mo and Bahati, who were the connections to Z. And five years later, here we are. But there are so many more questions that could be asked: who invited Cassidy to the picnic? How did he know that person? Who introduced Mo to EE? And how did Bahati enter the picture? It's probable that the links of connections can be extended back many, many years to create a webbed picture of causality. I'd like to hang that on my wall.
Like I said, I think like a scientist. The good thing to this slightly compulsive scientific reasoning is that I am becoming ever more aware that I am actually a scientist; that I have things to offer the scientific community. When I think about having the chance to move to Mozambique to get hired as a marine biologist, I'm not worried that I won't be able to do the job. In fact, I'm already weighing the pros and cons of various experimental designs. It is a really big change for me to finally feel confidence in my abilities - or rather, to recognize that I have some. And I'm chomping at the bit to get out there and implement all the knowledge that I've gained. I'm ready for something new - not in terms of subject material, but in terms of action. Enough reading - I want to start doing.
Occasionally I stop and listen to myself. When I do, I'm amused to discover how much of a scientist I am. For example, I'm doing an experiment on my thumbnails at the moment. No, I don't have a control - other than my past 29 years of experience. Even my above sub-categorization of tasks is scientific. Or really anal - I'll let you be the judge.
Last night, I had a dream about mapping relationships between people so that I could determine the series of events that led to me meeting my future husband. The technique is a little fuzzy, though I do remember that the angle of the line drawn between two names signified the strength and duration of that relationship. The key piece appears to be Cassidy inviting Jon and I to the Plutonic Ideals Picnic in 2000. That was where I met J, who invited me to my first RS event where I met EE. She knew Mo and Bahati, who were the connections to Z. And five years later, here we are. But there are so many more questions that could be asked: who invited Cassidy to the picnic? How did he know that person? Who introduced Mo to EE? And how did Bahati enter the picture? It's probable that the links of connections can be extended back many, many years to create a webbed picture of causality. I'd like to hang that on my wall.
Like I said, I think like a scientist. The good thing to this slightly compulsive scientific reasoning is that I am becoming ever more aware that I am actually a scientist; that I have things to offer the scientific community. When I think about having the chance to move to Mozambique to get hired as a marine biologist, I'm not worried that I won't be able to do the job. In fact, I'm already weighing the pros and cons of various experimental designs. It is a really big change for me to finally feel confidence in my abilities - or rather, to recognize that I have some. And I'm chomping at the bit to get out there and implement all the knowledge that I've gained. I'm ready for something new - not in terms of subject material, but in terms of action. Enough reading - I want to start doing.
February 12, 2005
The faith in science
The other day, Z said: I don't share your faith in science.
Faith? In science? Huh??? Doesn't he realize that science is beyond faith? It is purposefully designed to not rely on faith.
Or is it?
Since he said that, I've been thinking a lot about science, undermining my career with every heretical notion. Perhaps science is a religion all of its own. If so, it's a religion of knowledge - of replicable, peer-reviewed knowledge.
Or is it?
Is science just as reliant on belief as religion? Is it perpetuated by followers who don't see other opinions as valid - who dismiss those opinions using esoteric language that is only intelligible to people with advanced degrees? In science only accessible to people who have entered its inner sanctum of knowledge?
Sure, we teach science in elementary school, so it must be easy to grasp. Right. Please raise your hand if you think science is easy. And now, raise your hand if you can describe that tenet at the base of all science, the scientific method. Anyone?
Now raise your hand if you understand statistics. That's the real foundation of scientific reasoning. Sometimes I think it's just a bunch of fancy mathematics. Somewhere, someone thought that 0.05 was a good number. Ever since then, we've been dong fancy math, comparing our results to this and then drawing conclusions about The Way Things Are. We sell these as Facts. And don't you even think about questioning them...
OK OK. So statistics is more complicated than this. But I don't have a degree in mathematics, so I'm just going to have to take my biometry professor's word on faith. I better believe because it seems unlikely that I'm ever going to know.
And how is this different from religion?
Faith? In science? Huh??? Doesn't he realize that science is beyond faith? It is purposefully designed to not rely on faith.
Or is it?
Since he said that, I've been thinking a lot about science, undermining my career with every heretical notion. Perhaps science is a religion all of its own. If so, it's a religion of knowledge - of replicable, peer-reviewed knowledge.
Or is it?
Is science just as reliant on belief as religion? Is it perpetuated by followers who don't see other opinions as valid - who dismiss those opinions using esoteric language that is only intelligible to people with advanced degrees? In science only accessible to people who have entered its inner sanctum of knowledge?
Sure, we teach science in elementary school, so it must be easy to grasp. Right. Please raise your hand if you think science is easy. And now, raise your hand if you can describe that tenet at the base of all science, the scientific method. Anyone?
Now raise your hand if you understand statistics. That's the real foundation of scientific reasoning. Sometimes I think it's just a bunch of fancy mathematics. Somewhere, someone thought that 0.05 was a good number. Ever since then, we've been dong fancy math, comparing our results to this and then drawing conclusions about The Way Things Are. We sell these as Facts. And don't you even think about questioning them...
OK OK. So statistics is more complicated than this. But I don't have a degree in mathematics, so I'm just going to have to take my biometry professor's word on faith. I better believe because it seems unlikely that I'm ever going to know.
And how is this different from religion?
February 10, 2005
Red Pawed
This afternoon, I walked through the door of my apartment and the strangest thing happened: nothing at all. For those of you who know Kaya, you'll realize that this is very bizarre. Normally, I am greeted with an enthusiastic, overwhelming and whiny welcome. Today: nothing. At first I thought that she must not be home; that perhaps our landlords were hanging out with her downstairs. When I reached the top of our stairs, I saw Kaya standing in the bedroom, head bowed, ears back, tail wagging lethargically at half mast. Instantly I knew that she'd done something bad - something really bad.
I first checked the trash in the office but it was still in its bin. Next I checked the bathroom trash but it was encased in its container too. Then I did a scout of the apartment floors for poop or upchuck or jellyfish. Nothing. Baffled, I checked our bed for hair and warmth. (Yes, I know her pretty well at this point.) There didn't seem to be more hair on the bed than usual and it wasn't warm to the touch, but every time I looked at the bed or touched it, Kaya cowered at my feet, ears plastered to the side of her head. Busted! If only she knew how much more she'd get away with if she didn't act so guiltily. Perhaps it's just as well she doesn't.
What's strange is that her reaction doesn't match her crime. Being "really bad" involves making a big mess, usually of the trash. Sleeping on our bed is only so-so bad. And yet she was clearly more guilt-consumed than if she had gone through the trash (when she does that, I find her belly-up and submissive at the top of the stairs).
She knows that going through the trash or sleeping on our bed is wrong and yet she still does it. I imagine her at home alone, dozing on her bed and dreaming of the cushiness that lies a mere three feet above her. She sits up and peers at the bed more closely. Overcome with guilt at the mere thought, she lays back down and tries to go to sleep. But the comfort of our bed calls to her and suddenly she finds herself standing next to it, one paw raised to touch it. Again, she is overwhelmed with guilt and so she returns to her bed. The next thing she knows is the sound of me coming home. With a start she wakes up only to realize that she's sleeping ON THE WRONG BED.
For Kaya, there is no "one ring to rule them all"; instead, there's "one bed to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."
Uh, I think I just outed myself as a LOTR geek.
I first checked the trash in the office but it was still in its bin. Next I checked the bathroom trash but it was encased in its container too. Then I did a scout of the apartment floors for poop or upchuck or jellyfish. Nothing. Baffled, I checked our bed for hair and warmth. (Yes, I know her pretty well at this point.) There didn't seem to be more hair on the bed than usual and it wasn't warm to the touch, but every time I looked at the bed or touched it, Kaya cowered at my feet, ears plastered to the side of her head. Busted! If only she knew how much more she'd get away with if she didn't act so guiltily. Perhaps it's just as well she doesn't.
What's strange is that her reaction doesn't match her crime. Being "really bad" involves making a big mess, usually of the trash. Sleeping on our bed is only so-so bad. And yet she was clearly more guilt-consumed than if she had gone through the trash (when she does that, I find her belly-up and submissive at the top of the stairs).
She knows that going through the trash or sleeping on our bed is wrong and yet she still does it. I imagine her at home alone, dozing on her bed and dreaming of the cushiness that lies a mere three feet above her. She sits up and peers at the bed more closely. Overcome with guilt at the mere thought, she lays back down and tries to go to sleep. But the comfort of our bed calls to her and suddenly she finds herself standing next to it, one paw raised to touch it. Again, she is overwhelmed with guilt and so she returns to her bed. The next thing she knows is the sound of me coming home. With a start she wakes up only to realize that she's sleeping ON THE WRONG BED.
For Kaya, there is no "one ring to rule them all"; instead, there's "one bed to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."
Uh, I think I just outed myself as a LOTR geek.
February 08, 2005
Externality Internalization
I thought that the word nonplus meant to be mildly upset about something as in, "Used to being a straight A student, Mary was nonplussed by her 88% on the exam." Z thought it implied neutrality: not caring about or being attached to a certain outcome. So, I looked it up in the OED and found:
nonplus v. & n.: completely perplex; a state of perplexity, a standstill.
To be perplexed, of course, means to be puzzled, bewildered or disconcerted. So nonplus somehow implies confusion as in, "I am nonplussed by the definition of nonplus."
I came across another great term in a paper that I read for my fisheries class: externality internalization. It made me cock my head to one side and say, "Rrrr?" like Kaya.
At first I tried to ignore it, figuring that we would define it in class tomorrow. Unfortunately, it doesn't just appear in the title of the paper; it's one of the focal points too (go figure). Given that I'm presenting the paper, I felt like I should probably turn up with a definition. I turned again to the OED which stated that to externalize is to give or attribute external existence to, while to internalize is to make internal.
Can you say, "Rrrr?"
For an apposite definition, I had to pull out my Conservation Biology text book from college. The meaning is so unsatisfying that I won't bore you with it here. It's better to misuse it deviously. Just think of the fun you can have in that next monthly meeting! You should practice saying it out loud right now. Perhaps if you repeat it three times a genie will burst from your computer screen, cleverly demonstrating an externality internalization.
nonplus v. & n.: completely perplex; a state of perplexity, a standstill.
To be perplexed, of course, means to be puzzled, bewildered or disconcerted. So nonplus somehow implies confusion as in, "I am nonplussed by the definition of nonplus."
I came across another great term in a paper that I read for my fisheries class: externality internalization. It made me cock my head to one side and say, "Rrrr?" like Kaya.
At first I tried to ignore it, figuring that we would define it in class tomorrow. Unfortunately, it doesn't just appear in the title of the paper; it's one of the focal points too (go figure). Given that I'm presenting the paper, I felt like I should probably turn up with a definition. I turned again to the OED which stated that to externalize is to give or attribute external existence to, while to internalize is to make internal.
Can you say, "Rrrr?"
For an apposite definition, I had to pull out my Conservation Biology text book from college. The meaning is so unsatisfying that I won't bore you with it here. It's better to misuse it deviously. Just think of the fun you can have in that next monthly meeting! You should practice saying it out loud right now. Perhaps if you repeat it three times a genie will burst from your computer screen, cleverly demonstrating an externality internalization.
February 05, 2005
What if an elephant?
This morning, for no particular reason, I am in a fantastic mood. Just like I can wake up feeling bitchy and crabby, I can wake up feeling full of life and excitement.
It's almost sunny here - there's a haze to the air but above that a blue sky can be discerned. I took Kaya to the park and then the corner store for milk and met four people in the block between home, park and shop. They too seemed happy to be alive. My body feels great this morning - twinges in my knee are minimal and I feel healthy and well. Maybe my cold/flu has finally gone? All these reasons could contribute to my stellar mood, though I don't know the ultimate cause of the flood of feel-good juice flowing through my brain. And for once, I don't need to know; I am happy and satisfied with just feeling good.
Last night, I went to dinner with my father. My family has always called me Miss Enthusiasm because of my tendancy to excited jubilation. He said that when I was about three years old, I got very worked up and excited about something and said, "But ... but what if ... what if an ELEPHANT???"
And that's how I feel to day: What if an elephant?
It's almost sunny here - there's a haze to the air but above that a blue sky can be discerned. I took Kaya to the park and then the corner store for milk and met four people in the block between home, park and shop. They too seemed happy to be alive. My body feels great this morning - twinges in my knee are minimal and I feel healthy and well. Maybe my cold/flu has finally gone? All these reasons could contribute to my stellar mood, though I don't know the ultimate cause of the flood of feel-good juice flowing through my brain. And for once, I don't need to know; I am happy and satisfied with just feeling good.
Last night, I went to dinner with my father. My family has always called me Miss Enthusiasm because of my tendancy to excited jubilation. He said that when I was about three years old, I got very worked up and excited about something and said, "But ... but what if ... what if an ELEPHANT???"
And that's how I feel to day: What if an elephant?
February 04, 2005
Has anyone seen my focus?
I have no focus today. I should probably add an "again" to that sentence. Classes started on Tuesday and I have a tonne and a half of work to do this semester. Yet somehow, I can't seem to get started on any of it. Probably going into the lab would help - at least I wouldn't be distracted by the endless amusements of the internet. But then again, I would be distracted by conversations amongst lab mates. It's easy to get drawn into (another) Bush-bashing or the-end-of-the-world-is-nigh discussion. Yes, we are happy people us fish labbies. I would go in and spend a few hours working on my project but I broke a nail - a thumb nail - and am once again waiting for those suckers to grow. I've read a few papers today and should go to the local cafe and read some more. This afternoon, I have to give a three-minute talk on why everyone should apply for the fellowship program I'm in; why it's so great. I should probably think about what I'm going to say. I should also prepare for the various talks I have to give next Tuesday.... But I'd rather surf the web. I feel like this week really is my final calm week before all hell breaks loose as I juggle teaching at middle school, a fisheries seminar, a fellowship seminar, writing a thesis, diving and - oh yeah - planning a wedding. It's like my mind/body has entered a state of rebellion: you can make me work next week, but today, I'm taking it easy.
In other news, I have officially left my women's circle. After a few months of thinking about it, I realized that I'm just not excited about a regular, structured thing. I love the women in the circle and will miss them, but it's not where I need to be focusing my energy right now. I was really nervous about letting them know given the shit that went down last time I left a women's circle. It ended up being really wonderful, despite my concerns. I was able to tell them how great they've been and they were able to do the same for me. I left feeling loved and supported. It was truly a wonderful evening.
On my way home, we pulled up behind a land rover with a cover over its spare tire upon which was drawn a fish. I identified it out loud before I realized what I was doing. Meghan turned to me and asked, "Do you ever feel like you know too much about something?" I think she was hinting at something.
And now that I have procrastinated even more, I will go and read what is sure to be a fascinating paper titled, "Fecundity of shortspine thornyhead (Sebastolobus alascanus) and longspine thornyhead ( S. altivelis) (Scorpeanidae) from the northeastern Pacific Ocean, determined by stereological and gravimetric techniques" - because I actually don't know too much about this quite yet.
In other news, I have officially left my women's circle. After a few months of thinking about it, I realized that I'm just not excited about a regular, structured thing. I love the women in the circle and will miss them, but it's not where I need to be focusing my energy right now. I was really nervous about letting them know given the shit that went down last time I left a women's circle. It ended up being really wonderful, despite my concerns. I was able to tell them how great they've been and they were able to do the same for me. I left feeling loved and supported. It was truly a wonderful evening.
On my way home, we pulled up behind a land rover with a cover over its spare tire upon which was drawn a fish. I identified it out loud before I realized what I was doing. Meghan turned to me and asked, "Do you ever feel like you know too much about something?" I think she was hinting at something.
And now that I have procrastinated even more, I will go and read what is sure to be a fascinating paper titled, "Fecundity of shortspine thornyhead (Sebastolobus alascanus) and longspine thornyhead ( S. altivelis) (Scorpeanidae) from the northeastern Pacific Ocean, determined by stereological and gravimetric techniques" - because I actually don't know too much about this quite yet.
January 29, 2005
Crazy Talk
There's a certain phrase than I've said more than a few times:
Getting married??? That's a crazy idea!
I've been thinking a lot about why I say this. It certainly doesn't result from questioning my decision; there's no doubt in my mind that Zack's the best Goddamn thing that's happened to me. But the concept of marriage scares the hell out of me. I did not grow up with working examples of long-lasting relationships; all my experiences show that they fall apart.
On Wednesday night I decided that taking my hacking cough to the symphony with Zack was rude and so I stayed home and watched a movie. Anyone seen Lantana? It's a recent Australian film about five couples in various states of marital decay. This is not a good movie to watch when you're planning your wedding. Or if you're having marital troubles. Or if you're in a relationship at all. Though it was a good movie. All you single folks should rent it.
Needless to say, Z came home from the symphony to discover a very upset fiancee on the couch. I don't watch movies like that and think: What awful relationships - that's not going to happen to me. No, instead, I think that that sort of decay is inevitable.
I'm working on changing my mind about this, but it's occasionally hard going. I spent a long time with my stepmum yesterday talking about marriage and the wedding (two different things: one involves more tablecloths than the other). In talking to her, I reconnected with just how much I love Zack; that he is the best thing ever. I cannot think of anyone for whom I'd rather work through this stuff. His unending support makes this kind of deep self-inquiry possible.
Thank you Zack, with all my heart, thank you.
Getting married??? That's a crazy idea!
I've been thinking a lot about why I say this. It certainly doesn't result from questioning my decision; there's no doubt in my mind that Zack's the best Goddamn thing that's happened to me. But the concept of marriage scares the hell out of me. I did not grow up with working examples of long-lasting relationships; all my experiences show that they fall apart.
On Wednesday night I decided that taking my hacking cough to the symphony with Zack was rude and so I stayed home and watched a movie. Anyone seen Lantana? It's a recent Australian film about five couples in various states of marital decay. This is not a good movie to watch when you're planning your wedding. Or if you're having marital troubles. Or if you're in a relationship at all. Though it was a good movie. All you single folks should rent it.
Needless to say, Z came home from the symphony to discover a very upset fiancee on the couch. I don't watch movies like that and think: What awful relationships - that's not going to happen to me. No, instead, I think that that sort of decay is inevitable.
I'm working on changing my mind about this, but it's occasionally hard going. I spent a long time with my stepmum yesterday talking about marriage and the wedding (two different things: one involves more tablecloths than the other). In talking to her, I reconnected with just how much I love Zack; that he is the best thing ever. I cannot think of anyone for whom I'd rather work through this stuff. His unending support makes this kind of deep self-inquiry possible.
Thank you Zack, with all my heart, thank you.
January 26, 2005
Nail Care
I have never cared about (or for) my finger nails.
(With an opening sentence like this, I probably just lost the interest of all of my three readers. I would promise that this entry is going to rapidly improve, but it's about fingernails for God's sake.)
So, anyway... Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I went and had a manicure. You may think that my sudden fascination with nail care is related to my impending wedding, but if you did, you'd be wrong. It actually has to do with my thesis. Seriously. An integral part of my thesis - the cornerstone upon which everything else rests - is determing the age of my fish. Considering that all efforts to swim up to a fish and ask it its age have so far failed, you might wonder how one determines the age of a fish.
Fish have a small bone called an otolith that essentially floats in part of their brain case. Being, like us, mainly water, fish face a problem when it comes to orienting themselves in their rather weightless watery domain. Because otoliths are bone and therefore denser than body tissue, they react differently to movement than the rest of a fish's body. When the otolith moves, it triggers recptors that let the brain know that the fish has, for example, just executed a sharp right turn with a quarter twist. It's analogous to the fluid in our inner ear canals pressing against the hair cells.
At this point in my ramble, you are probably wondering what on earth an otolith has to do with the age of a fish. And wasn't this post supposed to be about nail care??? Patience, gentle reader, and all will be revealed.
Otoliths increase in size as the fish grows. Fortunately for science, the bone growth is opaque in summer and clear in winter. These alternating bands form rings akin to those found on trees: count the rings, you know the age of the fish. A large otolith, however, is about the size of a pinkie finger nail (aha! you erroneously think, finally we're getting to the nail connection), meaning that rings need to be counted under a microscope. Some of the older fish have such thick otoliths that the rings can't be clearly seen. In this case, the small bone needs to be broken half and lightly charred, a procedure appropriately named "break and burn".
How, you might ask, does one break an otolith in half? Well, one carefully grasps the otolith between thumbs and forefingers, placing the thumb nails in the center of the bone. With a quick snap, one (hopefully) breaks the bone straight down the middle. The problem I have is that my thumb nails don't extend beyond the flesh of my thumb pads, thereby making it impossible to place them along the center of the otolith. Every time my nails begin to approach the appropriate length, they crack and chip and need to get trimmed.
When this happened again yesterday, I realized that if I ever want to finish my thesis I'm going to need to take care of my nails. Having no idea how to do that, I sought the help of a professional: I got a manicure and some extra special (and quite expensive) nail strengthener stuff.
I find it amusing that it is science, a profession populated with tomboys and grrrls, that has forced me to pay such close attention to my fingernails.
(With an opening sentence like this, I probably just lost the interest of all of my three readers. I would promise that this entry is going to rapidly improve, but it's about fingernails for God's sake.)
So, anyway... Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I went and had a manicure. You may think that my sudden fascination with nail care is related to my impending wedding, but if you did, you'd be wrong. It actually has to do with my thesis. Seriously. An integral part of my thesis - the cornerstone upon which everything else rests - is determing the age of my fish. Considering that all efforts to swim up to a fish and ask it its age have so far failed, you might wonder how one determines the age of a fish.
Fish have a small bone called an otolith that essentially floats in part of their brain case. Being, like us, mainly water, fish face a problem when it comes to orienting themselves in their rather weightless watery domain. Because otoliths are bone and therefore denser than body tissue, they react differently to movement than the rest of a fish's body. When the otolith moves, it triggers recptors that let the brain know that the fish has, for example, just executed a sharp right turn with a quarter twist. It's analogous to the fluid in our inner ear canals pressing against the hair cells.
At this point in my ramble, you are probably wondering what on earth an otolith has to do with the age of a fish. And wasn't this post supposed to be about nail care??? Patience, gentle reader, and all will be revealed.
Otoliths increase in size as the fish grows. Fortunately for science, the bone growth is opaque in summer and clear in winter. These alternating bands form rings akin to those found on trees: count the rings, you know the age of the fish. A large otolith, however, is about the size of a pinkie finger nail (aha! you erroneously think, finally we're getting to the nail connection), meaning that rings need to be counted under a microscope. Some of the older fish have such thick otoliths that the rings can't be clearly seen. In this case, the small bone needs to be broken half and lightly charred, a procedure appropriately named "break and burn".
How, you might ask, does one break an otolith in half? Well, one carefully grasps the otolith between thumbs and forefingers, placing the thumb nails in the center of the bone. With a quick snap, one (hopefully) breaks the bone straight down the middle. The problem I have is that my thumb nails don't extend beyond the flesh of my thumb pads, thereby making it impossible to place them along the center of the otolith. Every time my nails begin to approach the appropriate length, they crack and chip and need to get trimmed.
When this happened again yesterday, I realized that if I ever want to finish my thesis I'm going to need to take care of my nails. Having no idea how to do that, I sought the help of a professional: I got a manicure and some extra special (and quite expensive) nail strengthener stuff.
I find it amusing that it is science, a profession populated with tomboys and grrrls, that has forced me to pay such close attention to my fingernails.
January 23, 2005
In Another Life
A friend introduced me to a fun little exercise: off the top of your head, imagine what you would be if you had another life to live. These are not necessarily dreams that you have and want to fulfill, but more like the first five things that come to mind. This afternoon I would be a/n:
1. Fireman
2. Secret Agent à la X Files
3. Forensic scientist
4. Dog
5. Epidemiologist
Number one because it was the first thing that came to mind; number two because I would be privy to all that top secret, classified information and would therefore know whether or not alien abductions really happen; number three because I would know how they figured out that Mr. Peacock did it in the library with the candlestick; number four because it would be fun; and number five because it would be a good conversation starter (and ender) at a cocktail party:
Exceedingly handsome man (looks just like Zack) approaches with two martinis: Say, pretty lady, what do you do?
Me: Well, kind sir, I'm an epidemiologist.
Exceedingly handsome man: Oh?
Me: An epidemiologist studies the spread of disease. I'm currently working on Ebola - that's the African virus that causes death by massive hemorrhaging. If infected, your body basically turns to goop. It's terribly contagious.
Exceedingly handsome man: Oh. Really. How interesting. I'll be right back...
January 21, 2005
One Fish, Two Fish ... Only Three Fish!?!?!?
Today has not been a good day at all. No siree. I was awoken at 6:28 to the sounds of Kaya heaving and then throwing up. Without a doubt, this is the Least Pleasant way to wake up.
I woke up again at 7:20 when the alarm went off. I felt like I was being resurrected from a nice, warm, cozy death. I made a quick assessment of my head, realized it was filled with throbbing cotton wool, rolled over and went back to sleep. I woke up again when Zack got up, and finally heaved myself out of bed at 8:16. I called my dive buddy Lisa who said I sounded like hell. Then I called my advisor; both he and his wife agreed with Lisa's assessment of my health. Those of you who dive know that diving with sinuses full of snot is a terribly bad idea. So, I had to cancel the whole dive trip. This project seems fated to end in the way it began: with false starts, crappy weather, and a dearth of treefish.
I remember the first collection we did to Palos Verdes. SFSU's 19' whaler (that's a boat) was in the shop because someone had broken the prop and filled the motor with mud while doing work in the delta. We arranged to borrow a boat owned by Occidental College, and arrived in LA to howling Santa Ana winds and an ocean that closely resembled the contents of a washing machine. The following day was calm enough to get out, though big swells kept the bitterly cold water full of particulate matter and the visibility to about 12 feet. The big swells also kept me heaving over the side of the boat - and let me tell you, the only thing worse than feeling sea sick is throwing up in front of your advisor and colleagues on your first trip together. At the end of a day, we had four treefish to show for our trouble. Four! That's a tad shy of the 70 we were hoping for.
And that's how the project began. Every time I would come really close to calling the whole thing off, we would have a productive dive trip, returning with enough fish to think the project was a go. The trip after that would either be blown out or we wouldn't have a van or we couldn't find any fish. And so it went, alternating useful expeditions with futile ones. And somehow I have been dumb enough to stick it out and make it work. Finally, after almost two years on this project, I can say that it has worked. I have 316 fish to show for my trouble, a little short of the standard 400. But I got what I got, and boy am I ready to be done.
My most recent trip was to Santa Cruz Island in November. We had aimed for a window between two storms, driving to Santa Barbara in the pouring rain. Thursday night's marine forecast confirmed that Friday would be calm. While stopped in a strip mall to get ice and coffee on Friday morning, my companions turned on the boat radio and tuned into the weather. The NOAA announcer has a lot of area to cover, so it's easy to tune out and miss the forecast you're listening for. Nevertheless, someone thought they heard something about 15 knot winds in the channel. That's pretty darn strong. As I walked back to the boat with the ice, I noticed some trash being whipped around the parking lot and the eucalyptus tops tossing about. It was not yet 7:00am; this was a bad sign. We drove down to the harbor anyway to have a look-see. Sure enough, the water was more white than blue. One of us managed to get a call through to a friend out in a boat who reported that the channel buoys were measuring gusts up to 25 knots. So, we turned around and drove home. By Friday night, I had spent 24 of 36 hours in a car. Given this disaster, I thought that I was due for a break and that my next trip would be smooth as buttah.
But, it was not to be. With Lisa and I sick, there's no way we can dive. We're now planning a fish-lab mad-dash mission: tow the boat to LA on Monday; arrive in Torrance at about 11pm after spending several hours negotiating hellish traffic and lovely LA drivers while towing a behemoth of a boat; get up at 5:00 for breakfast; launch the boat at 7:00am from Redondo; motor the hour or so to Catalina; dive until the sun is almost down; eat; sleep too little; eat; launch at 6:00; dive until 3:00; pack; motor back to the mainland; eat; drive home. We should be back by 4:00am on Thursday. I just hope that we get a decent return for our efforts; it would be really nice to end this two-year fiasco with a no-worries, she'll-be-right-mate dive trip.
After speaking to my fellow divers this morning and calling off the dive trip, I took Kaya on a much-needed walk up to kite hill. It is so much steeper with goop-filled sinuses. I got home only to realize that I had forgotten to take my keys with me. Yep, I was locked out. I spent an hour sitting on Market Street, waiting for Z to come home on his lunch break to let me in.
I will now crawl back into bed and wake up to a different and better day.
I woke up again at 7:20 when the alarm went off. I felt like I was being resurrected from a nice, warm, cozy death. I made a quick assessment of my head, realized it was filled with throbbing cotton wool, rolled over and went back to sleep. I woke up again when Zack got up, and finally heaved myself out of bed at 8:16. I called my dive buddy Lisa who said I sounded like hell. Then I called my advisor; both he and his wife agreed with Lisa's assessment of my health. Those of you who dive know that diving with sinuses full of snot is a terribly bad idea. So, I had to cancel the whole dive trip. This project seems fated to end in the way it began: with false starts, crappy weather, and a dearth of treefish.
I remember the first collection we did to Palos Verdes. SFSU's 19' whaler (that's a boat) was in the shop because someone had broken the prop and filled the motor with mud while doing work in the delta. We arranged to borrow a boat owned by Occidental College, and arrived in LA to howling Santa Ana winds and an ocean that closely resembled the contents of a washing machine. The following day was calm enough to get out, though big swells kept the bitterly cold water full of particulate matter and the visibility to about 12 feet. The big swells also kept me heaving over the side of the boat - and let me tell you, the only thing worse than feeling sea sick is throwing up in front of your advisor and colleagues on your first trip together. At the end of a day, we had four treefish to show for our trouble. Four! That's a tad shy of the 70 we were hoping for.
And that's how the project began. Every time I would come really close to calling the whole thing off, we would have a productive dive trip, returning with enough fish to think the project was a go. The trip after that would either be blown out or we wouldn't have a van or we couldn't find any fish. And so it went, alternating useful expeditions with futile ones. And somehow I have been dumb enough to stick it out and make it work. Finally, after almost two years on this project, I can say that it has worked. I have 316 fish to show for my trouble, a little short of the standard 400. But I got what I got, and boy am I ready to be done.
My most recent trip was to Santa Cruz Island in November. We had aimed for a window between two storms, driving to Santa Barbara in the pouring rain. Thursday night's marine forecast confirmed that Friday would be calm. While stopped in a strip mall to get ice and coffee on Friday morning, my companions turned on the boat radio and tuned into the weather. The NOAA announcer has a lot of area to cover, so it's easy to tune out and miss the forecast you're listening for. Nevertheless, someone thought they heard something about 15 knot winds in the channel. That's pretty darn strong. As I walked back to the boat with the ice, I noticed some trash being whipped around the parking lot and the eucalyptus tops tossing about. It was not yet 7:00am; this was a bad sign. We drove down to the harbor anyway to have a look-see. Sure enough, the water was more white than blue. One of us managed to get a call through to a friend out in a boat who reported that the channel buoys were measuring gusts up to 25 knots. So, we turned around and drove home. By Friday night, I had spent 24 of 36 hours in a car. Given this disaster, I thought that I was due for a break and that my next trip would be smooth as buttah.
But, it was not to be. With Lisa and I sick, there's no way we can dive. We're now planning a fish-lab mad-dash mission: tow the boat to LA on Monday; arrive in Torrance at about 11pm after spending several hours negotiating hellish traffic and lovely LA drivers while towing a behemoth of a boat; get up at 5:00 for breakfast; launch the boat at 7:00am from Redondo; motor the hour or so to Catalina; dive until the sun is almost down; eat; sleep too little; eat; launch at 6:00; dive until 3:00; pack; motor back to the mainland; eat; drive home. We should be back by 4:00am on Thursday. I just hope that we get a decent return for our efforts; it would be really nice to end this two-year fiasco with a no-worries, she'll-be-right-mate dive trip.
After speaking to my fellow divers this morning and calling off the dive trip, I took Kaya on a much-needed walk up to kite hill. It is so much steeper with goop-filled sinuses. I got home only to realize that I had forgotten to take my keys with me. Yep, I was locked out. I spent an hour sitting on Market Street, waiting for Z to come home on his lunch break to let me in.
I will now crawl back into bed and wake up to a different and better day.
January 19, 2005
Three Things
ONE:
According to a November CBS poll, nearly two thirds of Americans - yes, two thirds - believe that students should be taught creationism along with evolution. I am dumbfounded, literally. What is there to say? Who are these people who take Genesis so literally? People who are so willing to toss out piles and piles and piles of evidence supporting a theory that so far explains everything pretty damn well in favor of a nonsensical story? Oh, you have a problem with the word, "theory"? Well, gravity is a theory, too, folks. I personally don't see questioning that as a good use of anyone's time.
TWO:
The nasty cold has been reborn. Z and I both have sore throats (again), body aches (again), and coughs (again). Perhaps it is in response to me shunning the Word of the Lord. If that's the case, I request an exorcism.
THREE:
Tomorrow, I leave for Catalina Island on the last of my fish collection trips. I've been undertaking dive trips to Southern California since April 2003 - seems like an awful long time ago. In 2004, I made 68 dives despite the fact that I took three months off. All this is coming to a close. I am both sad and relieved: I'm not looking forward to spending the next six months in a lab devoid of sun and dolphins and garibaldi; I am relieved to not spend days at a time alternating between shivering underwater and shivering in a boat. I'm happy in a sad kind of way to complete this adventure at Catalina, which remains the most beautiful place I've ever been diving. Like with so many things in my life at the moment, I'm turning a page, simultaneously closing one chapter and opening another.
According to a November CBS poll, nearly two thirds of Americans - yes, two thirds - believe that students should be taught creationism along with evolution. I am dumbfounded, literally. What is there to say? Who are these people who take Genesis so literally? People who are so willing to toss out piles and piles and piles of evidence supporting a theory that so far explains everything pretty damn well in favor of a nonsensical story? Oh, you have a problem with the word, "theory"? Well, gravity is a theory, too, folks. I personally don't see questioning that as a good use of anyone's time.
TWO:
The nasty cold has been reborn. Z and I both have sore throats (again), body aches (again), and coughs (again). Perhaps it is in response to me shunning the Word of the Lord. If that's the case, I request an exorcism.
THREE:
Tomorrow, I leave for Catalina Island on the last of my fish collection trips. I've been undertaking dive trips to Southern California since April 2003 - seems like an awful long time ago. In 2004, I made 68 dives despite the fact that I took three months off. All this is coming to a close. I am both sad and relieved: I'm not looking forward to spending the next six months in a lab devoid of sun and dolphins and garibaldi; I am relieved to not spend days at a time alternating between shivering underwater and shivering in a boat. I'm happy in a sad kind of way to complete this adventure at Catalina, which remains the most beautiful place I've ever been diving. Like with so many things in my life at the moment, I'm turning a page, simultaneously closing one chapter and opening another.
January 17, 2005
Stay Away
I am in a royal mood today, but only if royalty are royal pains in the ass. I'm pissed off, snappy, grumpy and likely to throw a tantrum over nothing. I bet you're upset that you don't get to hang out with me. If you really want to, Zack might be convinced to trade places with you. You would need to sign a waiver, though:
I _____(Name)______ will not hold against Bartlebee anything that she says or does; I will never, ever mention anything that happens on this day; I will not utter the letters P, M or S.
Last night, we went to an improv show to see our friends Corey and Jenny perform. As we left, we walked through a group of teenagers hanging out by the door, dressed in their best imitation of the 80's (shudder). As we passed them, I realized that from their perspective, we are old.
Old?!?! When the fuck did that happen???
Afterwards, we went to the Elbo Room, which Jenny's sister and friends had rented out for a four or five person (Jenny said five but held up four fingers) 30th birthday party. The drinks were strong and, because we only knew two people there, Zack and I got a little crazy, a little stoopid, on the dance floor. It was fun for a time - at least an hour. Then I realized that I didn't fit in for several reasons:
1. I wasn't ragingly drunk (can you say, designated driver?)
2. I wasn't dressed in a lingerie-like top, jeans and heels
3. I obviously wasn't single
4. A particular finger on my left hand wasn't ring-free
When you're part of a couple, it's like you don't exist to the other sex. There wasn't anyone there that I found particularly attractive, but it would have been nice if even one person to whom I'm not betrothed had made an effort to flirt with me. Perhaps this is why couples tend not to stay out as long as singles: it's not that they prefer each other's company, but that they feel a bit out of the loop, no longer part of the in-crowd. Maybe it's just me. And maybe no-one flirted with me because they sensed the impending doom of my mood and sensibly stayed away...
... Like Zack, who just muttered something from a safe distance and ran out the door. Right before he left he asked if I was safe to hug. He looked genuinely scared, and righfully so. Even I don't want to hang out with myself today.
I _____(Name)______ will not hold against Bartlebee anything that she says or does; I will never, ever mention anything that happens on this day; I will not utter the letters P, M or S.
Last night, we went to an improv show to see our friends Corey and Jenny perform. As we left, we walked through a group of teenagers hanging out by the door, dressed in their best imitation of the 80's (shudder). As we passed them, I realized that from their perspective, we are old.
Old?!?! When the fuck did that happen???
Afterwards, we went to the Elbo Room, which Jenny's sister and friends had rented out for a four or five person (Jenny said five but held up four fingers) 30th birthday party. The drinks were strong and, because we only knew two people there, Zack and I got a little crazy, a little stoopid, on the dance floor. It was fun for a time - at least an hour. Then I realized that I didn't fit in for several reasons:
1. I wasn't ragingly drunk (can you say, designated driver?)
2. I wasn't dressed in a lingerie-like top, jeans and heels
3. I obviously wasn't single
4. A particular finger on my left hand wasn't ring-free
When you're part of a couple, it's like you don't exist to the other sex. There wasn't anyone there that I found particularly attractive, but it would have been nice if even one person to whom I'm not betrothed had made an effort to flirt with me. Perhaps this is why couples tend not to stay out as long as singles: it's not that they prefer each other's company, but that they feel a bit out of the loop, no longer part of the in-crowd. Maybe it's just me. And maybe no-one flirted with me because they sensed the impending doom of my mood and sensibly stayed away...
... Like Zack, who just muttered something from a safe distance and ran out the door. Right before he left he asked if I was safe to hug. He looked genuinely scared, and righfully so. Even I don't want to hang out with myself today.
January 16, 2005
January 15, 2005
Talent
Last night, Zack and I went to the
We had front row seats; I could see the soloists spit and follow along the violinists’ sheet music. When the Brazilian dancers came out in sequined brassieres, scarf-covered g-strings and huge feathered hats they stood right in front of us. We both got thwacked in the face with feathers, a small price to pay for the pleasure of watching them shake their thangs from three feet.
Yes, it was an unusual night at the symphony.
Since then, I’ve been thinking a lot about talent. What does it mean to be talented? Has someone like Renée Fleming always had an amazing voice? Or did she “just” work really hard?
There’s someone in my marine biology graduate program who isn’t all that bright, but who will end up with a master’s degree just like the rest of us. S/he isn’t talented in an academic sense, but is talented when it comes to stubborn persistence. Or should stubborn persistence not be categorized as talent?
When it comes to drawing, I believe myself to be lacking in the talent department. But perhaps I could learn to draw and, if I worked hard enough at it, develop a lot of skill and go on to be a contemporary Monet, color blindness and all. Would this be called talent? Or without a basic level of skillfulness, could I never achieve artistic renown?
Is it just a matter of working hard? Can everyone achieve anything if they put their minds to it and are given enough encouragement? Or do the really talented folks start out with a level of competency that far exceeds the regular folks?
Feel free to chime in with your talented opinion at any time, folks.
January 14, 2005
Oops, Version II
So I had another strange dream last night: I decided to marry an Indian man instead of Zack.
I got dressed in a beautiful red and gold sari. The ceremony began with the applicaton of bindis and three stripes of ash to our foreheads. Then we rang a tiny, porcelain bell and arranged some tacky, empty photo frames. When it came time for us to feed eachother, I realized that the groom hadn't done a damn thing to prepare for the cermony; his mother, at the altar with us, was doing it all. I received the food his mother passed to him, biting into the braised, sweet green onion and realized that after the wedding, he was going to turn into an abusive, good-for-nothing husband. I freaked. Seeing an out, I asked the mother if it would be okay if I went to the bathroom. On my way out of the room, I got Zack's attention and with subtle head gestures and grunts indicated that he should follow me. We walked down the hallway into Zay's old bedroom at the Liberty Penthouse. It was so easy to talk to Zack, so comfortable. I started to cry because I realized that I was marrying the wrong man. I told Zack that he made me laugh like no-one else, and that I wanted to marry him. He responded, "No no no no nope. You are the ex-wife that I love". His tone was full of cold finality, and I realized that I'd missed my chance. I woke up crying. For once it was a relief to hear him snoring beside me.
That makes for the second dream I've had about marrying the wrong person.
And now all you married people can reassure me by telling me that you had similar dreams before your big date (or dates in the case of hmc and e) and that they won't plague me for the next eight months. Don't be shy now. Make me feel better!
I got dressed in a beautiful red and gold sari. The ceremony began with the applicaton of bindis and three stripes of ash to our foreheads. Then we rang a tiny, porcelain bell and arranged some tacky, empty photo frames. When it came time for us to feed eachother, I realized that the groom hadn't done a damn thing to prepare for the cermony; his mother, at the altar with us, was doing it all. I received the food his mother passed to him, biting into the braised, sweet green onion and realized that after the wedding, he was going to turn into an abusive, good-for-nothing husband. I freaked. Seeing an out, I asked the mother if it would be okay if I went to the bathroom. On my way out of the room, I got Zack's attention and with subtle head gestures and grunts indicated that he should follow me. We walked down the hallway into Zay's old bedroom at the Liberty Penthouse. It was so easy to talk to Zack, so comfortable. I started to cry because I realized that I was marrying the wrong man. I told Zack that he made me laugh like no-one else, and that I wanted to marry him. He responded, "No no no no nope. You are the ex-wife that I love". His tone was full of cold finality, and I realized that I'd missed my chance. I woke up crying. For once it was a relief to hear him snoring beside me.
That makes for the second dream I've had about marrying the wrong person.
And now all you married people can reassure me by telling me that you had similar dreams before your big date (or dates in the case of hmc and e) and that they won't plague me for the next eight months. Don't be shy now. Make me feel better!
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